License to Ill

I think Australia might be trying to kill me. I am not sure yet. Sometimes, it seems like Australia loves me and never wants me to leave. Like when the sun shines, and the waves crash and the guy at the counter calls me Sheila (that hasn’t actually happened but I trust that it will at some point). But much of the time I think Australia wants me dead.

Why? Because She has waged a campaign of biological warfare against me and my kin. Over the last two weeks, my girls and I have been ravaged by a flu/cold from hell. Fortunately, Mike has been spared. Good thing too. He works for an investment group. Not sure he would survive a physical assault as well. This is cold/flu number 15 since we have arrived.

My theory may be wrong. Maybe Australia is just trying to bolster my wimpy immune system, because it cares; like a drill Sargent trying to beat the weakness out of me. If this is the case, the World Youth Day Pilgrimage to Sydney was like the boot camp finale. The Pilgrims brought with them love, prayers, and germs from around the world. So it could be that this hellish flu is not Australian at all. Maybe this humdinger is Latvian. Hard to say at this point. It is more likely an Asian flu, because it has brought out Chaylee’s legendary kung fu skills.

You see, when Chaylee weaned (see Suddenly Seymour) she may have stopped suckling, but her fascination with the human mouth did not cease. She continues to rely upon sticking her hand in my mouth when she is in need of comfort or rest.

Therefore: Chaylee + Illness = root canal for mommy.

Example: Last night I was up from 2am till 4am being worked on. She used some of her traditional moves like the inner cheek scratch and gum claw. I used some of my own defense techniques like the lullaby method and snuggle hold. When these defenses faltered I attempted to hold a pillow in my mouth in hopes that she could not enter . The pillow was no match for her misery and immense need for comfort. She pulled a side maneuver and entered through the gap between fabric and cheek. Exhaustion and empathy prevailed.

It was like negotiating with a little terrorist. Okay, okay, you can put your hand in my mouth, just stay away from my frenulum…and no scratching.

Now that my hair is longer, she has incorporated some new comfort seeking techniques. Namely, twirling my hair and then jamming it into my mouth. This is a favorite of mine. Another meditative strategy she now employs involves a flat hand and a swift jabbing motion aimed directly at the uvula. Any attempts to thwart said strategy is met with rivers of tears and agonizing cries of “momma”, cough, cough, sneeze, cough, “momma”. How can you say no to a sickly baby dentist. I can’t. Especially one as lovely as she.

Word of the Day: Oldies: Parents.

I refuse to use this in a sentence.

Poll: Does anyone else have a child or know of a child that is comforted by the inside of his/her mother’s mouth?

Family Fun Fact: Chaylee Pasley DDS is an amazing little girl…it would take ten blogs…even more…to capture her loveliness. She is a delight not just a dentist. Just wanted to let the world know.

Surgeon General Notice: By the time guests arrive in Sydney once again, our family should be completely immune to germs worldwide.

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Wenlocks and Grandma Down Under Part 2

“Living without you, living alone
This empty house seems so cold” 

Oh Journey…you haunt me.

My beloved family has departed…leaving me to fend for myself on this massive remote island. I am closer in proximity to the Malaysian Prime Minister than my own relatives now. Best not to think about that too much.

Instead, I shall dwell on all the wonderful times we shared …once we got the nose situation under control, that is. We frolicked on the steps of the Opera House, danced to the didgeridoo at Circular Quay, played in the sparkling sands of Balmoral Beach and hid from a rainstorm under the bridge. We even ate Aussie food at an Irish Pub where Mick, the ball-busting waiter shared his displeasure with our Olympians…

“Tired of hearing your bloody anthem mate!”

Okay, now that’s just awesome.

Mom’s arrival brought even more bliss. We flew kites on the crystal shores of Bondi, caressed kangaroos at Taronga Zoo and attempted to enjoy the clowns and carnival of Luna Park.

Our first attempt was met with alluring lights, celebratory music, and a closed sign. Our second effort was thwarted by a recently revised ticket policy. No longer are visitors to Luna Park allowed to purchase individual tickets, only a pricey “ticket package”. We had to take a stand. It wasn’t easy convincing the little ones that our boycott was justified, so we bribed them with fairy floss (cotton candy) and festive clown encounters.
Lesson: Never trust an establishment that uses a creepy clown to welcome you.

There was also good grown-up fun. Mom and Kirsten and I had one heck of a night out on the town. Mom was a champ. She was willing to enjoy the nightlife even though the excursion would commence at 1am Pacific Standard Time.

We decided to take the train from Chatswood to Darling Harbour where we would locate an eatery worth eating at. On our way there we were fortunate to happen upon an Asian festival where a Celtic band was playing an obscure song called “Orphan Girl” that my mom recorded with my sister and I for her latest album. It was a surreal “Small World” sort of feeling as we Americans sang along with Irishmen at an Asian festival in Australia. All that were missing were some an African goat drums and a couple sombreros.

Once we arrived at Darling Harbour, we scoured the promenade with purpose, in an effort to find the perfect spot to imbibe and nibble on the finer things. We finally found what we thought was an ideal location; a seafood joint with outdoor dining and a water view. It was beautiful, crowded, festive and fricken freezing. The heat lamps were no match for the mighty winter winds that lapped up against our hungry cheeks. (That was my lame attempt at a more poetic writing style). Although we were pleased with our culinary options and our waiter, we did not feel like having frigid fun. So we took our drinks and headed inside.

Our indoor accommodations were sparse. No jovial neighbors surrounded us, the wait staff was disorganized and disinterested, and the table was cold and barren. We had made a poor decision. We scanned the room and found a more alluring option. A booth, with a decorative bamboo backdrop and a better view…sort of. At least we could see something blue at the bar. Unfortunately, it was also home to a run away AC unit. It was like trying to have a drink in a wind tunnel. Since no one cared to feed us at that point anyway, we paid the bill and departed.

Then, it happened.

We found what we were looking for. We found Nick’s. Nick had it goin on; outdoor seating, effective heating elements, a magnificent menu and a friendly staff that seemed more than happy to take in customers on the rebound.

There was a minor martini incident…but other than that…

(The following clip contains some profanity. My apologies. It was my alter ego Delores…not me.)

The evening ended with the singing of a popular folk song called, “We Are Australians.” The song recently gained popularity in mainstream media due to a moving Olympic inspired commercial. We performed the song in three-part harmony on the streets of Sydney in hopes that somehow our melodious effort would ignite an impromptu Sydney sing-a-long, in the tradition of Fame or High School Musical. It didn’t.

Mike and James also had a night out on the town. They walked the Harbour Bridge and hit some of the famous Sydney Pubs. I hear much of the night was spent trying to feed Big James in a town that doesn’t believe in serving anything edible after 10pm. I believe the adventure ended with beer and pancakes. ???

There was more, much more, but since I am into the whole brevity thing we will fast forward to the airport…

I did what I could to not weep openly as they headed to the concourse that would lead them home. I am not an attractive crier. My nose and lips tend to swell and my skin gets very red and blotchy. Needless to say, I left that day in the aforementioned state.

In the somewhat altered words of Journey,
“Now that [they had] come back and
Turned night in to day
I needed [them] to stay”

Fortunately Mom and Mike were there with Open Arms.

We decided to head out to our favorite pizza joint to lessen the sense of loss and continue the fun. It was a good night. There was a minor incident involving mom, food aversion and a fever of 101, but over all…

Random Trivia: Aussie’s shorten everything…to an irritating degree. It’s not breakfast, it’s brekkie. It’s not lipstick, it’s lippie. It’s not flight attendant or air hostess, it’s hostee. I mean, Come on guys. Are you being a little ridiculous, or should I say, rickee!

Poll: Is Delores too vulgar?

Fun Family Fact: Mom and I discovered some incredible local hangs that we would like to take future guests to, including: Palm Beach, Whale Beach, Serpentine Beach and the Royal Botanical Gardens. What a grand time we had Momma!

Phrase of the Day: Choof Off: To leave or depart.
Why did they have to choof off?

Homework: Learn “We are Australians”

The Wenlock Adventure Down Under Part 1

 

They arrived on the third of August. My beloveds. My blood. My family. In anticipation, Kenna helped prepare freshly squeezed orange juice while Chaylee made up a routine to Men at Work. I set out an array of tropical fruits native to Australia in addition to cream puffs and croissant breakfast sandwiches. Impressive.The anticipation was becoming physically uncomfortable. Mike called just in time. 

“I have the package.” He said.

The girls and I squealed with delight and put the Men to Work. “Land Down Under” played at maximum volume as we headed for the front door to greet our kin.

The series of hugs that ensued would have made you cry. It was as if we had been kept apart by the Iron Curtain. We sent Oprah the tape. As a result, she is buying Qantas for us. Good on ya Oprah!

Day one was spectacular. The children frolicked gleefully, the grown ups relished the bliss of international togetherness. The Wenlocks were impressed with their accommodations and my awesome driving. There was a minor incident involving a sand pit, a mini tractor and Rowen’s eye at the park… but, all in all, it was a strong start. There was also a minor vomit incident involving Mike and some chicken. But, overall…

Day two brought much excitement. While Mike recovered from his evening poolside, the family and I headed into town to see Sydney and it’s Darling Harbour. The outing did not disappoint. The panoramic views, peaceful promenades and world famous Aquarium brought hours of oohs and aahhhs.

Later that evening, there was a minor incident involving Rowen, some vomit and the occasional dry heave. But, overall…

Day three took a bit of a nose dive. An incident developed involving Kirsten, allergies and a nasal infection. Story also experienced some flu like symptoms throughout the night. But all in all…

By day four Kirsten’s right nostril had doubled in size and was a shade just shy of crimson. I told her she was still pretty. She cried. Then I told her that her nose looked a lot like Bill Clinton’s and reminded her that he still gets a lot of A$ despite his bulbous nose. That seemed to help. At least until I was able to get her to the doctor. Though the Medical Center I frequent has a fairly undesirable reputation, it’s convenient and cost effective so we decided to disregard Mike’s “clown medicine” jokes in order to save some cash. The Doctor glanced at my sister’s nose, agreed that it was infected, reminded us of the proximity of the nose to the brain, then mistakenly wrote up a prescription for children’s Erythromycin . Dr Feelgood said if it got worse there was nothing more he could do for us and we would need to head for the ER. Send in the clowns!

Poor Kirsten left feeling worse than when she arrived and far more anxious. But hey, at least she had her bubble gum flavor antibiotic.

Day five brought a whole new set of issues. The nose now appeared broken. Although Kirsten desperately wanted to avoid the subject of the nose, it became a focal point; an impossible feature to avoid eye contact with. Through glassy eyes, Kirsten confessed that she thought she might lose her nose. Mike consoled her by pointing out the fame and notoriety of Voldemort. She was in no mood for dark humor.

My efforts to bring peace were thwarted by my own terror at what was transpiring. I could not seem to keep myself from the maniacal manifests of WebMD. That bastard cyber doctor convinced me that Kirsten had nose cancer accompanied by MRSA with a touch of encephalitis. Tough to tell someone it’s all going to be okay when you have just received their death sentence.

Unfortunately, the nose situation was not the only medical malady of the day. Young James was next in line to be attacked by the House of Pain as his gastro intestinal system fell victim to the bug that seemed to be taking out each family member in kind. But outside of the physical suffering and agony, things seemed to be going well.

I would have been far more discouraged by the escalating crisis were it not for my bearded Hungarian Bride, Big James, who helped me keep the boat afloat by executing diaper changes, doing dishes and bathing children.

On the sixth day the swelling had become more localized with a painful hint of purple. Frightening facial numbness had emerged as well. Not the improvement we were hoping for. It was time to take drastic action. We could head to the ER or return to the circus. I decided to take my soon to be noseless sister back to the Medical Center to Dr. Townsend. The notoriously long line to see him suggested to me that he was the Obi Wan our Princess Leah needed. Maybe he would nose what to do.

Day seven brought healing and hope. The new medicine prescribed by Dr. Townsend was fast and effective. Kirsten’s nose was not going to fall off. We nearly set out to celebrate but then came a minor incident involving Big James and some vomit, but overall…

Phrase of the day: “You’re crook but not crook as rook wood” Dr. Townsend
Translation: You’re sick, but your not going to die.

Poll:
Which is worse?
A: A runaway nasal infection
B: Chunder Down Under
C: Accidentally showing your buttock to a park full of people.

Trivia: Taste is 75% smell. I hate the word smell. So does Kirsten.

Next Blog: Things Are Looking Up

 

Where the Streets Have No Name

 

We’ve come a long way, Mike and I. Six months ago, we were navigating the Sydney suburbs with little more than a stroller and an atlas. Three months ago, we purchased a vehicle and drove sparingly; gripping the wheel at 10 and 2 like petrified high school students on the first day of Drivers Ed. Today, we both are capable of eating a burger, talking on the phone, grabbing an unruly child by the ankle and steering simultaneously. How is that for progress?

But progress brings with it challenges of it’s own. An increase in confidence has led to more driving excursions, and it doesn’t take many of these to discover that Sydney is cruel.

Would you like to take a right, Heather? Shut up. You will turn right when I say you can and that won’t be for another 10 kilometers!!!!

Oh, did you make a mistake? Would you like to turn around? NO! Now turn off your blinker before I force you onto the freeway.

Oh…you didn’t want to get on the toll infested freeway? Too Bad. Pay up Beeyotch!!!! And when you figure out how to turn around and head back the other way you will pay again…..mmoooohahahahaha moooooohahahaha!

Oh you need to turn left? You want to be in the left hand lane? Oh you do?Okay…..PARKED CAR!!!

Mike finds the random parked cars that pepper the left lane particularly irritating. Legendary tirades have ensued after near misses with said cars.

And then there is the issue of navigation. I am convinced that google maps is against me and my family. Not sure what we did to anger Mr. Google and his map making minions, but they seem to want us to be permanently lost. It has gotten so ridiculous that Mike and I have decided to always find our selected destination a day ahead of time.

“Hey honey, let’s go to the drive-in”.
“Okay, we’ll drive there tonight and go tomorrow”.

Today, I took the girls to Bi-Centennial Park in West Pymble. There are about four Bi-Centennial Parks in Sydney. Just like there are 18 Macquarie Streets, 12 Warratah Roads and 32 Victoria Avenues. Fortunately, I did my homework and found the park I was looking for on (dun dun dun) google maps.

Google thinks it funny to say things like, “Exit toward Ryde”. No street name. No Exit number. Just a suggestion. If I knew where Ryde was, I would go toward it. It reminds me of how my mom gives directions

“Go West.”

“What? I have not a compass! Left or right woman…left or right!”

The rest of the directions were less vague but completely wrong. I relied soley on my Gregory Guide (cousin of Thomas) to get me there. And you know how conveient ancient map navigation is while driving. Greg and I worked together and got us there though. Good on ya Greg.

TAKE THAT GOOGLE MAN!

Kenna Quote: Context-When I could not find the play area at the park we spent a half an hour trying to find. “Mom, it’s okay. Strawberry Shortcake says that hill is more than just a hill it’s a possibility. You add skill and love and that’s how a garden grows.”

She has been throwing out a lot of gems lately. Yesterday she said she loved me because I make her feel like she has glitter and bows in her heart. She also told me I was pretty like the “Queen of Israel”. (stunned silence) That’s awesome.

Chaylee quote of the day: Momma. Momma. Mommy. Mom. Momma. Momma. Mommy. wasssisiss ticka was he he dada ha.

Shout out to my man: Mike was named Foreign Driver of the Year when he took on a two lane round about at night during rush hour without breaking a sweat. Cool as ice, that man. Cool as ice!

Word of the Day: Fair suck of the sav! : exclamation of wonder, awe, disbelief.
Fair suck of the sav, I am where the streets have no name!

Trivia: It is World Youth Day here in Sydney. The Pope is here presiding over the largest Mass in Australian History this morning at Darling Harbour. I had no idea the Pope was such a Rock Star. The youth were beside themselves. It was a lovely spectacle.

 

Thoughts on parenting and coolness


Most of my time these days is dedicated to preserving two human lives. My goal is to provide my offspring with the best childhood memories possible. If all goes well, they will still like me when they leave the nest and need minimal therapy. The rest of my time is spent trying to run our household. Since Mike (God bless him) has been been confined to a desk from dusk till dawn ( such is life in a penal colony) the onus has been on me to keep things running here on the home front. Those of you who know me well, know that my administrative skills are only slightly better than my track and field abilities. And domestically, I really only have one gift and that is cooking. I can cook the bee-jeebies out of a hunk of meat, but cleaning up the pan after the fact is a hell I try to avoid at all cost. And then there is the art of laundry. I am sort of a Jackson Pollock in that regard. I like to sort of throw a variety of color in the wash and see what comes out. Mike (God bless him) will not actually let me near his garments. I think he just doesn’t understand my genius.

I have learned some very valuable life lessons from my time at home with the wee ones though. Particularly from my oldest…since she is the only one that is currently speaking a dialect I am familiar with.

Lesson 1: Any argument can be won by using made up words.

Me: Kenna, I need you to put on your shoes, it is the last time I am going to ask you!
Kenna: Mom, I am in the middle of a “constrination” so I cannot listen to you right now!!!
Me: (stunned silence.)

Lesson 2: Fake plans will get you out of anything. I call this maneuver the Crane. There is no defense, if done properly.

Kenna: I want to go to Joan’s house.
Me: I am sorry Kenna. Now is not a good time.
Kenna: Mommy please, I want to go and have a chat!
Me: Kenna, you can go tomorrow honey.
Kenna: (tears) But, mommy, tomorrow I have a wedding to go to and a meeting! I can’t go tomorrow!!!!!!
Me: (stunned silence)

Lesson 3: Life is like a sitcom

Kenna: What is going on in this show mom?
Me: I am not sure. I didn’t watch it last week. These shows are kind of like chapters in a book.
Kenna: My life is like that. Each day is a chapter. When I wake up in the morning I decide if it is a good chapter with my behavior, or a bad chapter, or a sad one or a boring one. It is like God, writing the bible. He’s writing a book about me.
Me: (stunned silence)

Lesson 4: Singing a song can chase your blues away.
Sometimes I find Kenna standing still with her hands by her sides and her eyes half closed singing. It is almost always one of three songs: Tomorrow(Annie), Silly Dreamer (Strawberry Shortcake), or I’ve Gotta Go My Own Way (Troy and Gabriella). I have even caught her on a few occasions at the park after pre school…alone…singing…eyes half closed. I once asked her why she did this. She explained that it made her feel better if she was feeling sad, lonely or left out. I too use this method now; although I am struggling a bit with song selection. Don’t Stop Believin is a shoe in. The other two slots are still up for grabs. Chaylee has already adopted her sister’s mood adjustment method with a couple of minor alterations. She prefers to make up her own songs and she usually throws in some rapid arm movement just to mix things up.

Lesson 5: Its harder to be cool when you have kids.
Sometimes I miss my own youth. I realize 30 is the new 12, but there is something about being in my thirties that makes me feel like I can’t dance anymore. Maybe it is because when I shake it these days, Kenna politely asks me to stop. Or maybe it is because of generation Y and their cyber judgments. I watched some hip-hop videos from my school days on youtube one afternoon (Thank You Julie) and made the wretched mistake of viewing some of the comments made by chronologically challenged individuals. One youngster referred to Ralph Tresvant’s “Man With Sensitivity” as an oldie. WHAT? “Unchained Melody” is an oldie. “Louie,Louie” is an oldie. Hits produced by New Edition and it’s former members are not!

I digress.

I just want to be cool forever. Which brings me to my next life lesson!

Lesson 6: It is possible to be cool forever.
My best friend in Australia is Joan Karrad. She is 88, semi immobilized by mild CP and arthritis and still, she is the coolest person I have encountered in the whole of Sydney. She is clever, kind, funny, empathetic, fearless, faithful and bold. Everything I want to be. I refer to her as “my old lady”. Kenna refers to her as “cool”. I guess there is hope for me yet.

Poll: What songs would you select if you decided to use the Kenna Pasley mood adjustment.method?

Fun Fact: * In 1832, 300 female Convicts at the Cascade Female Factory mooned the Governor of Tasmania during a chapel service. It was said that in a “rare moment of collusion with the Convict women, the ladies in the Governor’s party could not control their laughter.”

Phrase of the day: galoot: a foolish person
The older I get the more I realize what a galoot I am.

*I realize that at a glance, my fun fact for the day has nothing to do with parenting or life lessons. But consider this: when you feel imprisoned by a monotonous life; when you are incarcerated by day to day responsibilities; when it seems no one is on your side…

moon someone.

Fashion Frenzy

They laughed at me. 

I told the women at playgroup that I won’t spend more than 20-30 bucks on a pair of shoes and they laughed at me.

Evidently, they have never heard of Payless Shoes around here…or is it Volume…or is it Payless? The women of Roseville are high end shoppers. Their version of casual is cashmere and fancy boots. Some have even paid big bucks to have their “colors” done. Ally, for example, is an Autumn with a touch of spring. So you can imagine how taken aback they were when I revealed that not only do I have little to no fashion sense, but I am cheap.

When the topic of shopping comes up, I am always unsure how to engage. Do I nod and pretend I am one of them? Or, do I go with my usual self depreciating humor that seems to endear me to others. This week I went primarily with option B. It was only moderately successful however.

When discussing the latest trend in boot shape I whipped out some of best material “my cankles wouldn’t fit in those things if you used a commercial size shoe horn and vaseline.” I wish I would have said that actually. That is good stuff. What I actually said was a bit less hardcore…”I couldn’t get these babies in there if I tried”. Then I simply pulled up my pant leg and let em have a look. Unfortunately, the raucous laughter I expected, was more like a sympathetic chuckle.

“Poor girl’s got calves like a Polynesian man.” I could hear them thinking.

When discussing a sale going on at David Jones, I threw out: “Do they have candle lit dressing rooms, because I am not down with getting naked in front of mirrors with spotlights shining on my thighs. I am smoking in candlelight though!”

Again….nervous laughter.

That’s it. Next time I am going with option A. If I am going to use my insecurities to bring others joy and laughter, I am going to need a far better pay off.

Trivia: The 80’s are back with a vengeance here. I even saw a young man wearing a gray hoodie with flouresent pink jagged stripes in the back. This is good. Now I can wear leg warmers to cover up the cankles.

Poll: How do you deal with your insecurities?

More trivia: I have lost close to 20 pounds since I moved to Sydney. Will my sense of humor be no more once I have achieved my ideal weight?

Words of the Day:
Clobber: Your clothes. —I like casual clobber.

Disclaimer: The women of Roseville are wonderful and I adore them. They do chuckle at me a bit. I just can’t tell if they think I am actually funny. I may send out a survey this week.

TROY RULES! He is not just my cousin…he is my pal.

Suddenly Seymour


Warning to my male readers: This blog contains graphic and disturbing imagery that may cause you emotional distress and discomfort. Read on at your own risk.

The time has come to ween my beloved Chaylee Jane. As a newborn, Chaylee was a baby icon. Never had there been a new life that slept so peacefully, cried so little or latched onto the breast so naturally. Her only quirk, a strange inclination to put her tiny hand in my mouth as she suckled. How sweet. How tender. Her tiny fingers exploring my teeth, gently discovering the intricacies my cheeks. However, the once tender quirk is now a hellish nightmare….

She has become a deranged dentist, clawing at my gums, gripping my mandible and thrusting it downward with inhuman strength, scraping my taste buds with her tiny talons!

You may be thinking, why don’t you simply move her head out of the way Heather?  Good question.  And I have a good answer.  Because samurai toddler over here goes mortal combat on my cakes and grabs my trachea with her ninja death grip. You may suggest pulling her off the breast when she goes for the mouth. Well, I would if she wasn’t a biter.

Case in point. A few weeks ago, I awoke at three in the morning on the couch with Chaylee biting down on one nipple while pinching the other like a vice. “There is no escape” she said… with her eyes. How could I have let this go on for so long. Sleep deprivation can make people do crazy things I guess.

For nearly a year I have allowed myself to live like a show pig at the Puyallup fair. I lay in bed at night allowing her to have her way with me like a ravenous piglet with a keen interest in dentistry, just so I can enjoy the benefits of an hour of sleep. I have been in prison and lactating has been my only crime. It’s parole time baby. I love you Chaylee. You are my little star, my precious possum, my baby girl, but it is time for mommy to find a new dentist.

Weened at 18 months.  Photo taken at 3 years.  Just in case there is any confusion.

Poll: What is worse:
a) falling off a swing, exposing your bum to the public
b) walking naked through the neighborhood in a rainstorm
c) being tortured by a baby dental hygienist

Fun Fact:
80% of babies in Australia start out on the breast, rates drop off quickly, with 50% still feeding at 1 month and 24% at 6 months (Australian Bureau of Statistics,).

Words of the Day:
Happy Little Vegemite
noun:- a happy and contented person. Derived from an advertising campaign recently revived where chipper Vegemite eating children are described as happy little Vegemites.

Oh little Chaylee, this too will pass and you will once again be a Happy Little Vegemite.